


The Emmys

by anonymousmadame2911



Series: The Blue Hippo and the Pink Pussycat [17]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom
Genre: After Party, Alison Brie - Freeform, Angst, Dave Franco - Freeform, Depression, Emmys, F/M, Heartbreak, James Franco - Freeform, Nigel Lythgoe - Freeform, Seth Rogen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911





	The Emmys

“Chris. We need to talk.”

Sometimes things just don’t have a happy ending. You wish this could be like a rom com, where everything was tied up nicely with a big beautiful bow at the end. But, this wasn’t it. This wasn’t a cute TV show. This wasn’t a cute little movie. This was your life. You were under media scrutiny. You’d never been on Instagram or Twitter or Tumblr or whatever those other sites were. But, pictures of you going into Chris’s house had popped up all over E! News. Your agent was fielding calls left, right and center from tabloids who wanted a comment about your relationship. You didn’t have one—a comment or a relationship. Your agent thought this was bad news. The focus on your relationship to him took away from the focus on your dance career. You were frustrated and burnt out. You were giving 200 percent, but you were only willing to give that to your career. Not to some guy who you weren’t even sure if he had your back or not. You were currently at the third stop of the So You Think You Can Dance tour. Nigel had personally asked if you would return for the next season to choreograph a few routines. It looked like your future was life on the road for now. So, you called Chris. 

“I’m sorry. Chris, but I just can’t do this. I’m spending so much time practicing and rehearsing. I just don’t have any time for you.”

You hung up before he could even respond. He didn’t text you. He didn’t call you back. He didn’t send you a single email. It was radio silence. You were a little disappointed by that. You’d expected that he’d at least fight for the relationship, but when he didn’t, you’d decided that you’d made the right choice. You didn’t have time to cry. You were either dancing or sleeping. You barely even had time to eat. After a few months, you returned to LA to find a small apartment. You felt empty and hollow. You missed the constant attention he fed you—the morning text messages, the quick evening calls before you went to bed, the random memes he’d send you. That first week in you apartment, you slept. You slept for 18 hours a day. You could barely crawl out of bed to cook or even shower. You’d cry yourself to sleep. You rationalized that this was your time to get over the break up, even though y’all were never really together. You felt the rug had been pulled from under your feet. You’d assumed that because you’d dumped him that you could manage the break-up easily. You were wrong.   
By the second week, you dragged yourself around the neighborhood. You tried. You really tried to make new friends. The months wore on. The heartbreak was easier to deal with as time went on. The next season of So You Think You Can Dance started and you threw yourself into developing a few new routines to show Nigel. He loved them and left it up to you to decide which one the contestants would perform. You chose the lyrical piece dedicated to your parents. You created a routine about the car accident and how it destroyed you. The judges were in tears after the performance.   
Faking that you were happy got easier day by day. By the end of the year, you stopped crying yourself to sleep. The network had nominated your routine for an Emmy. Your dream was coming true. It really was. You took a brief glance over the other nominees and saw a familiar name. It would be a big ceremony. There were a lot of celebrities that would be there. He wouldn’t want to see you since you were the one who dumped him. You rationalized. You broke his heart. Of course, he had every right to be angry with you. You could go and you wouldn’t have to see him. He’d be seated up front and you’d probably be towards the back. Sasha and Lucy came out to LA to celebrate with you. You marked them down as your plus 2. They’d have to find dresses and y’all would all get ready together like y’all did when y’all first became friends. You picked out a mid-thigh gold dress with spaghetti straps and a sky-high slit in the thigh. It was tailored to make you look like you’d just stepped off the runway. You asked for a Cleopatra eye and bright red lipstick to match with your red stilettos. Who knew what industry professional you’d meet tonight? You were ready.   
Lucy, Sasha and you walked down the red carpet early in the night. You were sat at a table far back in the auditorium. Y’all gossiped and caught up on each other’s lives while the other awards were being presented. Sasha had been smart enough to smuggle in some bags of chips. After an hour, the ceremony started. You looked around, but couldn’t see Chris. You breathed a sigh of relief. You dodged a bullet. The break-up hadn’t exactly been the nicest and truth be told, you probably should have spoken to him in person. After an hour, they presented the away for the best choreographed routine. Sasha and Lucy pushed you out of your seat when you won. You stumbled to the microphone and stood stock still. You had no clue what to say. You hadn’t prepared anything. You weren’t used to being put in front of an audience and talking. Two minutes went by quickly and the presenters had to pull you off stage. Looking back on it, you kicked yourself for not having written anything. You had been so certain that you weren’t going to win. You were in the mindset of “just enjoy the night and be happy for the winner.” You set your Emmy down and leaned over to fix your makeup. In the reflection, you saw the back of Chris’s head and he was deep in conversation with another guy. You quietly grabbed your statue and tiptoed away to the women’s bathroom. You touched up your eyeliner and checked your eye shadow and lipstick. You gathered up your confidence and stepped out of the bathroom. There was no Chris in sight. You released the breath you were holding and took your Emmy to the engraving table, where you bumped into Travis Wall.

“Hey, I saw your routine. Amazing. Simply amazing! The way the costumes lent themselves to the allegory of shedding new skin. Wow…just wow…”

“Uh…thank you. But I thought you were going to win tonight for sure.”

“Clearly. You didn’t say a word up there! I’ve never seen anyone so speechless!”

“Yeah. That…was…um…embarrassing.”

“We should exchange numbers. I have a piece that I’m stuck on. I wanna hear your ideas on it.”

“Really? Yeah…um…ok. Sure. Why not?”

You both retrieved your statues and returned to your tables, where you found Sasha and Lucy deep in conversation with Chris. You quickly ducked behind a column to compose yourself. Realizing that you couldn’t hide there forever, you slowly approached the table. 

“I hope to see you at the Vanity Fair after-party.”

With that, Chris quickly left without a second glance towards you. 

“Sasha. Luce. We weren’t invited to the after-party. They only invite people they think are important,” you said quietly. 

“Don’t worry. We’re gonna have our own party.”

Sasha and Lucy traded glances behind your back. The ceremony dragged on, with all the expected actors and shows winning. By the end of the ceremony, your phone blew up with congratulatory texts from your agent and other friends in the business, some urging you to have a glass of champagne on them. On your way out the door, you bumped into Travis again. 

“You coming to the after-party?”

“The Vanity Fair one? No. I wasn’t invited.”

“Girl. There’s a couple of them. I’m going to the Brie-Franco party. You wanna come with?”

“Oh. I’m here with my friends too.”

“Bring ‘em.”

“Yeah. What’s the address?”

“I’ll text it to you. I’ll meet you there!”

A few minutes later, your phone dinged with the address to the party. You, Sasha and Lucy squished into a Lyft and went to a house situated in Silver Lake. It didn’t look like the house of a celebrity, or even two celebrities. Stepping out of your ride, you saw Seth Rogen and James Franco hugging Dave and Alison. Once inside, you saw Travis, Rob Reiner, Leonardo DiCaprio, 50 Cent talking to a middle-aged white guy, and Robert Downey Jr. talking to Chris. Because…of course. This was your life. Of all the parties, you were certain he would have gone to the Vanity Fair party. But, no. You grabbed Sasha’s hand.

“Did you know he’d be here?”

“Me? What? No!”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Liar.”

The look on her face told you everything you needed to know. You made brief eye contact and he nodded your way. You walked to the backyard where there was an open bar. You, Sasha and Lucy grabbed your drinks and sat by the fire. Seeing Chris hadn’t been so bad. You didn’t turn into a complete mess. He hadn’t made a scene or said anything asshol-ish to your friends. Things were civil. You felt comfortable to go back inside to the bathroom. You wound your way through the press of people and found that through some miracle the bathroom was open. You ducked in and popped out to fix your makeup again. As you were pressed up against the counter, Chris stumbled in behind you. He slid his hands around your hips. 

“I’ve really missed you,” he slurred.

You looked at his reflection in the mirror. Blood pumped to your face and your clit. You gripped the edge of the counter. You pushed back into him.

“We can’t. You know we can’t do this.”

He nuzzled into your hair. 

“Yes. We can.”

You snapped. Your self-control returned in full force. 

“No. We can’t. You’re drunk.”

You walked away from him and out of his life.


End file.
